“Of course I have knowledge, that’s my job. Have you ever been hunting, Doctor Lecter? I treat this much like that. I walk into the room looking for signs of movement, tracks, and use that to extrapolate how the killer and the victim moved. I look at the patterns of blood, the actions that were taken on the body, and from there I gather a conclusion.”
“I’m not always right,” he continued, “but I’m not far off. I treat this a bit like running a simulation in my head. Of course, you could say I get into the character of the killer. I step into their shoes, but I can do that with everyone and it certainly does not repress my true self. Would you ask the same questions of an actor playing a villain?”
He understood that he was being tested. Hannibal was poking and prodding at him until he got some kind of a response. Will would play along, so long as his boundaries weren’t tested too much. He had this bad habit of snapping at people when he felt threatened, like a cornered dog. While he was sure Hannibal would latch onto such a reaction and use it to further his therapy, he’d really just prefer avoiding the situation altogether.
Will took a deep breathe to compose himself, and then spoke. “A conversation certainly sounds… acceptable. Don’t try to pick me apart too much and I’ll provide you with solid entertainment for an hour.” He smiled, the muscles on his face stiff despite the intended emotion of the gesture.
He never felt safe in the presence of a therapist or similar professional, but he was slowly trying to teach himself that Hannibal–while trying to his patience–was not a threat.
Certainly, Hannibal would never harm him.
Lecter looked into Will Graham’s rictus smile and allowed the pleasure of success to wash over him. He smiled. “An hour of entertainment I would greatly appreciate, Will. While I do not regret shifting my career to the study of the human psyche, I have to admit that the thrill of surgery was far greater than most of the patients I admit into my practice.”
Tilting his head with measured slowness, as much a considerate psychiatrist as a predator locking onto its prey, Hannibal spun his pen once again around his finger.
“What about Garrett Jacob Hobbs, Will? He was a difficult one to catch, wasn’t he? I was there, after all. I saw you step into his mind. What you have... is remarkable. It is more than acting. You see things that no one else sees, not even me. When you stepped into Garret Jacob Hobbs, what did you see? Help me know him.”
Will smelled like a sleepless night made still by whiskey. He smelled like dogs and affection. He smelled lonely, and restless, and Hannibal wondered how his own scent might match in that regard.
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